Saved by a Bolt
by zenniel
Summary: A fiction following the events of the show with Andrea and Daryl points of view. May or may not become Daryl/Andrea. Rated T for cussing and gore. Ongoing.
1. Squirrels

**Hello, guys, and welcome to Saved by a Bolt! I've got an idea of where I'm going to head with this, so be excited! Please rate and review and expect more chapters!**

-DARYL-

"Dammit!" Merle cussed as he waved his hand angrily in the air. Daryl cast a glance at his older brother and immediately figured that his brother had pinched his thumb when he'd misused the crossbow.

"Shuddup! Yer gonna scare away th' squirrels." Daryl snapped, his eyes back on the tiny animal on the tree some ten or so feet away. He grabbed the crossbow from Merle and swung it up, taking aim at the tiny creature. He forced himself to breathe three breaths as a way to focus.

"Why the hell we hunt'n squirrels for these nigger-lovers 'nyway?" Merle demanded. The squirrel, startled by the man's loud voice, chattered and jumped up the trunk. Daryl's bolt was quicker, though, and it dug into the animal's soft skin, pinning it to the tree.

The squirrel's danger call had done the trick, though, and the woods had fallen silent. Frustrated, Daryl stalked over to the squirrel and pulled at the bolt, tearing bolt and squirrel from their previous holder. Then, rounding on his brother, he yelled, "You got balls, Merle. You go tell Shane we ain't got 'nough for ev'rybody."

"Don't care 'bout none-a them." Merle shrugged as he checked his thumb again, looking at his younger brother devilishly. But, despite looking straight at Daryl, the man continued as if he hadn't seen the murderous look on his brother's face. "They's fuckin' idiots. We don't _need_ 'em. We ken live on our own."

Daryl loved his brother but sometimes Merle just needed to be punched in the face to understand that the world was fucked. Certainly, Merle had decked Daryl enough times for the younger man to realize how futile _that_ was, though. Or perhaps it wasn't love, he mused as he pulled the bolt from the animal's carcass. Perhaps it was something else that made him stick to Merle like glue. Perhaps he didn't want to think about it none.

Deciding that pacifism was the better approach today, Daryl strung the squirrel on his rope and swung the rope onto his back. Then he started walking back to the camp. Like the obvious man he was, Merle stated stupidly, "Hey, where'ya goin'?"

"Camp." Daryl growled but wasn't sure Merle had heard. Whatever.

-DARYL-

Daryl reclined in the chair chewing on the hock of a squirrel. He watched the activities of camp and, like his brother, completely ignored what the women did. No, he was focused on Shane, of course. As their pseudo-leader, Shane was the one who bossed them around. Merle complained constantly, of course, but Daryl felt like the group needed one main leader who bounced ideas off others and actually took leading seriously. Wasn't gonna be him.

"We need to make a run into town," Glenn, as much as a token Asian man as Daryl had ever seen, spoke up.

No surprise, the others agreed. Shane quickly lined up a Mexican, that black dude who called himself T-Dog, and Merle. Complaining, Merle declared that he wasn't getting close to those not of white descent as he shot a look at Shane. Daryl continued to chew on the squirrel leg, gnawing the bone, breaking it and tasting marrow. To his surprise, that blond chick Andrea signed up, and following quickly was The Black Woman. Daryl had never bothered learning her name and only knew T-Dog's because it was so ghetto it made Merle cringe.

Daryl threw the rest of the bone into the low fire they had and watched as they piled into the truck. No one wanted to sit next to Merle. Shit, Daryl wouldn't want to sit next to Merle, either, if he were black, Mexican, or Asian. Took them a while to leave, too. Too long, and Merle fussed the whole way. In the end, Merle had to sit next to Andrea and Mexican, both minorities in his eyes. Daryl was pretty sure the laugh he made in his mind made it to his mouth.

Now, with Merle gone, he could go hunting again. And this time he'd get enough.

"I'm headin' out." Daryl called, hoisting himself out of the seat and picking up his crossbow. He doubted anyone heard him—he wasn't exactly the center of attention—but he saw Dale nod from his position on the top of the RV.

-ANDREA-

Sitting next to Merle wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was pretty bad, of course, but she'd done worse. Jacqui certainly had the better end of the deal, though, sitting up front with T-Dog. Even Morales looked uncomfortable, and she didn't think she ever saw the Mexican uncomfortable outside of being near Merle. She grinned despite herself.

"What'choo grinning at, woman?" Merle asked, glaring at her.

Deciding to ignore him, Andrea checked her gun. She had little knowledge about guns but had read the name of this particular gun when finding guns and thought it the perfect suitor for her. "Ladysmith," the silver gun's name was, had kept her feeling safe throughout the beginning of the outbreak, but she hadn't ever seen the need to use it. In her mind, she called it Lady, but she didn't know much about guns and certainly wasn't good at its upkeep. She tried, of course, but none of the men seemed to care about her or her gun.

So be it; she'd learn by herself, and she'd show them all.

"What do we need?" Morales asked Glenn as he shifted uncomfortably next to Merle.

"Food, mostly. Guns, too, if we can find them. We'll stop by a main store for clothes and I'll go out on my own. It's too risky bringing the whole group. You guys will have to be my eyes." Glenn answered.

"Fuck that, Asian." Merle said and probably would have spit if he had thought about it. Disgusted, Andrea looked away. "I ain't watchin' over you at all."

"Then you can go be walker bait." Glenn answered back, and Andrea cast a glance up at him, noting his fearful eyes but his calm demeanor. If Merle wanted to, he could probably kill Glenn right now. "No one's stopping you."

Andrea so wanted to be in the front with Jacqui right now. But perhaps, too, she was learning how to deal with gits like Merle. They sat in cold silence for a while, their bodies moving back and forth with the sway of the truck, until it suddenly stopped. Andrea looked up in mild surprise—they were there already?—and waited for the others to get out first.

There was no 'ladies first' here.

-DARYL-

He would have never found such damn juicy squirrels if Merle had tagged along. The two men worked well together when they weren't hunting, but if Merle was with someone else, he jabbered like a mockingbird. Daryl preferred to hunt alone. Took him a day to scrounge up these squirrels. Mostly, he had to travel a while to get to the traps he'd laid. Over half of them didn't have anything, but he was happy to have caught one of the biggest squirrels yet in one of them. He'd shot three with the crossbow. Dozen or so.

Then he found the deer. It had actually startled him at first, but he'd been downwind and he hadn't been detected. The deer munched on some grass and Daryl took aim. The first bolt hit it squarely in its haunches and the deer took off into the undergrowth, crashing about. He pursued the deer for a long while and was able to get a second bolt into the deer's hindquarters before losing it again. A cry went up in the canopy, but he ignored it, continuing to track the deer.

It wasn't hard. The deer was stumbling around, and he was sure he'd hit one of its leg muscles. He continued to pick his way around, following its path, knowing he was close. He didn't expect anyone to be around when he rounded the next obstacle.

He sure as hell didn't expect a group huddling around _his_ deer. Nor did he expect a shotgun in his face.

"Jesus." Shane said, pulling the shotgun away.

No time to be surprised. He looked at the group then looked at the deer. Anger welled in him. "Son-a-bitch! That's _my_ deer!" He declared, ignoring the group and heading over to the walker. It had taken a huge bite out of his animal. "Look at it all gnawd on by this filthy, disease-bearin', motherless, toxic bastard!" He said this with accentuated kicking, attacking the walker's prone body with his feet.

"Calm down, son, that's not helping," someone tried to reason.

Recognizing Dale, he retorted, "What do you know 'bout it, old man? Why don't you take that stupid had and go back to 'on golden pond'?"

Then, ignoring the withered excuse for a man and turning back to his animal, he continued, "Been trackin' this deer for miles. Was gonna drag it back to camp. Cook us up some venison. Whadda you think, think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"

"I would not risk that." Shane said, and Daryl didn't even glance at him.

"S'a damn shame," Daryl conceded. Then he hefted his rack of squirrels, "I got some squirrel. 'Bout a dozen or so; that'll have to do."

Then the walker's severed head (yeah, they'd severed its head and hadn't even thought about attacking it) opened its eyes and started moving. The girls, oh yeah, those two sisters were here, too, got disgusted. Daryl barely even glanced at them while the younger one whispered, "Oh God," and the older one ushered her away.

"Come _on_, people, what the hell." Daryl declared and shot the walker's head. Then he pulled out the bolt, disgusted not at the walker, but at the living. "It's gotta be the brain, don't you know nothin'?"

Even more disgusted, Daryl didn't even bother to clean off his bolt as he stalked back to camp. _This_ he had to tell his brother.


	2. Laundry

**Thanks for the reviews guys! I can't promise future chapters will be _this_ quick, but I'm on a roll right now! Continue to review, please!**

-ANDREA-

"They cut off its head and it was still.…" Amy mumbled as the two women retreated from group and headed back to camp. "It should have been dead… should have been more dead than it was before."

Andrea attempted to gather her thoughts. In the end, she sighed and rolled her shoulders. "Remember, Amy, no one stabbed the head. You've seen what happens before when their heads are left alone."

"Yeah, but I've never seen anything like _that_." Amy said, pointing behind her as if the walker was right behind them.

Andrea shrugged noncommittally. She wouldn't admit to her younger sister that what she'd seen had upset her stomach. She liked to believe that she'd become accustomed to seeing the walkers 'die' again, but no matter how much she told herself that, her body didn't listen. To her, it still felt the same as killing another human. Either way, she had to be strong for Amy because, like it or not, Amy was all she had left. The sisters didn't know if their father was alive, but Andrea didn't hold much hope for that dream coming true.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked back to camp. Amy and Andrea enjoyed spending time with each other no matter how small that time was. Gradually, the disgust and lingering fear from what they'd seen eased and Andrea realized how relieved she was when she heard the sounds of people bustling about in the camp. The first person who noticed them was Morales, who waved; Andrea waved back. But there would be no rest for the sisters, for Carol noticed them, too, and made a bee-line for them.

"You two planning on doing anything today?" Carol asked, to which the two girls shook their heads. "Would you be able to help Lori, Jacqui and I with the laundry?"

"I'll do it," Amy answered at once with a smile, always the first to help.

Andrea, on the other hand, grimaced. Being a woman meant doing 'woman' chores. Sure, she could bring in firewood and do hard labor like she was one of the guys, but when it came down to it, she'd be stuck with the rest of the women when it was time to do the laundry. She hated laundry more than she hated Merle.

Nevertheless, Andrea acted the part of the woman. "Sure, why not," she shrugged.

They followed Carol to the RV and met up with Lori, who was peeking into the RV probably checking in on the kids. No sooner had they reached the RV when Daryl burst from the woods calling to Merle. Andrea's stomach twisted and she folded her arms across her chest in response to the uncomfortable feeling. Daryl had no idea that she and the rest of the group had left Merle behind. And as soon as he figured it out, he began to make a scene.

Andrea didn't _blame_ him.

If she had come back from who knows where to discover that Amy was gone, left behind on some mission, she would have probably done something about as drastic as he… minus the throwing the punches. She _felt_ for Daryl, she really did, but Merle had had it coming for quite a while; even longer if what he'd said to build himself a higher pedestal of racism held true. That Daryl had no idea whether his brother was dead or alive made this ten times worse.

It was Rick Grimes, the newcomer Sheriff who happened to be Lori's once-thought-dead husband, who finally settled the dispute. There was a scuffle, and Andrea took an involuntary step backward, backing up into Amy as if defending her. Daryl had a knife out, but he was going up against Rick and Shane, and it became obvious within moments that both had worked with each other for a while. True to the Dixon name, Daryl wanted to kill someone—it was in his stance and in his eyes as far as Andrea could see—but after the brief tussle, he calmed down. Andrea had to give him credit: Merle probably would have gone on a rampage and killed them all.

T-Dog had come up, explained why it was his fault that they left Merle behind. Andrea felt a strange urge to add in her side of the story—in fact, she was fairly chewing her lip off to make sure she didn't speak up at the wrong time—but, like any other time, it was the _men_ who settled it. Rick talked Daryl down calmly and acted every bit in charge of the situation even though Shane stood by him. As they walked around camp, Andrea saw how Shane followed him, and to her, it looked as if Rick was the leader. It wasn't hard to see they were planning another trip into the city, and he chose Glenn to go with them.

T-Dog added that he was going, too, because of his own reasons. Andrea almost jumped to join them but remembered her prior engagement. Wrinkling her nose, she nevertheless stayed in the conversation, offering a question about the walky-talkies ("So use the CB, what's wrong with that?"), but ultimately her decision was already laid out for her.

And she was _not_ a laundry girl.

-ANDREA-

"I'm beginning to question the division of labor here." Jacqui muttered as she glanced over to where Shane and Carl played. Andrea looked at her with a smile. Jacqui had _no _idea.

The women brought their loads of laundry to the edge of the water in the quarry, took out a few pieces (with Jacqui still complaining and Amy commenting that the world had ended, where had she been), and sat on the plastic cartons set out for them. Within moments, Andrea's pants legs were soaked through and she knew her feet would be worse later as she commenced to scrubbing the first of the many clothes to come.

"I _do_ miss my Maytag." Carol stated wistfully.

The first things that Andrea thought of were, "I miss my Benz… my sat nav."

Jacqui had a dreamy look on her face as she said, "I miss my coffeemaker with that dual drip filter and built in grinder, honey."

"My computer," Amy was ever the technological one, "and _texting_."

Andrea stopped and a strange smile came across her face. "I miss my vibrator." Said matter-of-factly, as if she should have thought of that first. Jacqui made an 'oooh,' noise and Carol actually stopped washing to look at her. Amy started giggling.

After a moment of silence came Carol's reply: "Me, too."

Something clicked inside Andrea, and she laughed. Actually laughed. It felt good to be laughing about something so absurd. But the moment wouldn't last, of course, and Carol's husband, almost as much of a son-of-a-bitch as the Dixons, flounced over and asked what was so funny.

"Just swapping war stories, Ed." Andrea offered the man, a smile still on her face. But it disappeared as she turned back and muttered, "Yeah," as she gave a disgusted look. She hated Ed, too.

He wouldn't give up. She glanced back at him and wished he would go away. "Problem, Ed?" She asked, not even trying to disguise the disgust in her voice.

"None that concerns you. You ought to be more focused on your work." He continued to Carol. "This ain't no comedy club."

Andrea scoffed. Had he really just down-talked Carol? What the hell was this guy's problem? What did Carol do to deserve _this_? More importantly, why the hell was Carol still _taking _this from him? He stood behind them for a while, smoking his little cigarette thing like he was some sort of boss overseeing a slave group. And Andrea just got more and more frustrated. Finally, despite her better judgment, she stood up and confronted him.

"Ed, tell you what." She said, her whole body manner meant to be imposing. "You don't like how your laundry's done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself. Here." Said with a smile as she tossed him the wet shirt she'd been working on.

He promptly threw it right back; it splatted wetly on her neck, surprising her and only making her more angry. "Ain't my job, _missy_." He said, and she glared at him, flabbergasted.

"Andrea, don't." That might have come from Amy, but Andrea had had enough. She didn't care anymore. She didn't like Ed, and she would make it known.

"What _is_ your job, Ed?" Andrea contested, walking closer to him. She had to look up to him, but she would get up in his damn face if it was the last thing she did. She felt like she was going up against a Dixon right now. "Sitting on your ass smoking cigarettes?"

"Sure isn't listening to some uppity smart-mouthed bitch, tell you what." He replied smoothly, and then looked at Carol, she assumed. "Come on, let's go."

"I don't think she needs to go with you anywhere, Ed." Andrea declared, stepping forward again to defend Carol.

"I say it's none of your business. Come on now, you heard me."

Andrea turned around, having had enough with Ed, and tried to appeal to Carol, who was actually _listening_ to him like she was some trained puppy. When she tried to stop her, Carol mumbled something about it not mattering, and then Ed stepped forward with a "Hey, don't think I won't knock you on your ass just 'cus you some college educated cooze, alright. Now, you come on now or you gonna regret it later."

Ultimately, flabbergasted didn't cut it anymore. Even Jacqui cut in, asking about Carol showing up with fresh bruises. He laughed, like he was the king of the world. Andrea was sweltering with rage. "Stay out of this. Now come on! You know what? This ain't none of y'all's business." He said, all high and mighty.

"Y'all don't wanna keep proddin' the bull here, o-kay? Now I am done talkin'. Come on." He continued, this time physically grabbing Carol by the arm.

Andrea had finally had enough. "No," she said, along with protests coming from Jacqui and even Amy. Ed yelled something that Andrea didn't feel like deciphering from his underbred accent and slapped Carol across the face. That got her. "You _asshole_!" She yelled. She saw Amy move to protect Carol, but she'd let the rage overflow now.

The wet shirt was still in her hands, and she slapped him repeatedly with it, forcing him to bat her away in his attempt to recapture Carol. She was dimly aware of Jacqui fighting, too. They kept him away from Carol and she thought they might have the upperhand. Then, suddenly, Ed was dragged away and Shane was there. And Carol was crying (to which she put an arm around the woman, trying to console her while being unable to tear her own eyes away from Ed's beating), and Shane was punching Ed, and the girls started yelling for him to stop, and Andrea kept holding Carol.

Shane did stop, leaving Ed's face a bloody pulp and the man squandering on the ground like an injured child.

Carol broke free from her grasp and ran to Ed, crying that she was sorry. Andrea watched Shane go, but her mind was on Carol and Ed. What the ever-loving _hell_. Ed had just slapped her and promised a beating later, but Carol still went and consoled him, tried to get him to hurt less. Told him she loved him. Tried to tell him she was sorry. And Ed was lying there, cringing from the pain. For all the world ignoring the woman who tried to help him. Andrea wondered if Carol meant any of it, if she really was in love or if she was just afraid of what he'd do when no one was looking.

And right there, Andrea swore she'd never fall in love, least of all with a man like him.

-DARYL-

Sure, Daryl hated his brother sometimes, but _shit_, he didn't deserve this. He knew exactly what happened when T-Dog cut the door and he ran out calling Merle's name. Didn't see him. Saw the handcuffs where he'd been. Saw his _hand_. Daryl wasn't in control of his mouth when he yelled; when he paced he wasn't in control of his feet. Wasn't in control of his eyes when he cried out as he saw the bloody saw. It took him a while to calm down, to finally realize that his brother was _not_ dead.

That strengthened his resolve more.

"You think you can track him?" Glenn asked, and Daryl shot him a look of pure hatred. Leave it to the damn Asian to ask the stupid question.

"Don't need to," Rick said and pointed, "He left a trail."

Blood. Merle's blood. His _brother's_ blood. The coppery tinge of blood prickled his nose as they entered the door Merle had entered who knows how long before. He couldn't help but feel disgusted, not at the blood, but at the turn of events. But he knew he'd find his brother now. "Merle?"

"We're not _alone_ here, remember?" Rick's voice sounded just like something a pesky little mite would sound. Who cared if they weren't alone. This was his brother, dammit.

Daryl decided not to ignore the know-it-all, Sheriff Obvious, and retorted dryly, "Screw that. He may be bleeding out, you said so yourself."

The smell of burning meat soon assailed his nose, and he entered a room that must have been a kitchen that had live flames flickering steadily on the oven. And a belt. And a flat piece of metal something or other that had once been used for cooking. Still was, judging by the burned skin and dried blood caking it. Only this cooking wasn't exactly the type of cooking Daryl felt like eating.

Glenn asked what the burned 'stuff' was and Rick answered the man with what Daryl already knew. Skin. Merle had cauterized the wound.

"Told ya he's tough." Daryl declared nonchalantly. Then he felt like springing even more to his brother's defense: "Nobody can kill Merle."

Rick vomited a bunch of words, but Daryl, ever the hunting man, spied where Merle went after he'd 'healed' himself: a broken window. The Asian got all upset about him leaving the building and Daryl seriously didn't feel like repeating the 'he's Merle so he can't fucking die' stint.

"Why would he?" He answered instead, "He's out there alone, s'far as he knows. He's gotta do what he's gotta do. Survivin'."

He walked away, already hot in pursuit of his brother, but picked up T-Dog's retort of, "You call that surviving? Just wandering out in the streets and maybe passing out? What are his odds out there?" and he stopped.

"No worse than bein' handcuffed and left to rot by _you _sorry pricks." Then he rounded on Rick. "An' you couldn't kill him. I ain't so worried about some dumb _dead_ bastard."

Rick said something about a thousand dumb dead bastards, and he answered back telling Rick to take a tally and do what he wanted. He was going to go get his brother. Rick could kill all the damn walkers he wanted. Merle was _his_ brother, not this Sheriff's, and he wanted to go _now_. But Rick held him back, pushing him away from the window.

"Get yer hands off me!" Daryl yelled, getting defensive. "You can't _stop_ me!"

"I don't blame you; he's family, I get that. I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel. He can't get far with that injury. We can help you check a few blocks around, but only if we keep a level head." Rick said calmly.

Daryl saw the man's reasoning. He looked Rick straight in the eye, not exactly trusting him, but knowing that Rick would probably keep his promises. He got his breathing under control. Finally, he nodded curtly, "I can do that."

Then Blackie had to go and speak up about guns and good intentions. Daryl shot him a look but saw his point. Not everyone was as good with a crossbow as he was; not everyone liked close-combat fighting with knives like he did. He acquiesced. Merle was a tough son-a-bitch. He'd be alive when they found him and he wouldn't be bitten. Besides, they all might be less jumpy, except the Asian, who always seemed jumpy, if they had their hands around cold hard steel.

"Fine. Let's get us some guns." Daryl said and stepped aside mockingly, allowing Rick to go first.


	3. Fish

**I love all of the reviews so far and I'm ecstatic that** **everyone likes this so far! I****'m trying to piece together as many scenes (and not scenes) as I can, so expect multiple chapters from the same episode and some chapters from no episode at all!** **I'm looking forward to more reviews!**

-ANDREA-

One time when she was in Law School, Andrea had a boyfriend who loved doing things for her. She'd never liked doing the laundry and he'd surprise her and do it all before she woke up. She was never very promiscuous, so he didn't do it for the sex. In fact, since losing her virginity to her High School crush, she'd never let another man touch her body in quite the same way again. He did it to be nice to her, and she loved him for that. But when she brought him home one vacation to meet her father, Dad took one look at him and took her aside.

"Remember how I taught you to always keep the fish you catch?" He had asked, his eyes sparkling. Andrea had nodded, thinking she knew where this was going. "Well, this is one fish you're going to want to let go."

Dumbfounded, Andrea had asked him why but, ever cryptic, he'd given her nothing else. It turned out that Dad had seen right through the man's ruse. Her so-called boyfriend was just getting close to her so he could sex up her roommate, whose laundry he was also doing. She dumped him, told him to never come back to the apartment again, and subsequently lost her roommate as well. She heard later that they'd married and their fairytale ending had come upon them. She was just happy she'd taken her father's advice. It would have been harder to give him up later.

Andrea remembered that tidbit of past as she cast her line into the water again. She and her sister were drifting in the middle of the quarry's lake, fishing. Since Daryl had gone out with the men and since they'd already eaten most of the squirrels, the group was so big, Andrea had decided to go out with her sister and fish. _Anything_ was better than what happened earlier with Ed. Besides, it was peaceful out here. The bright blue of the water matched the incredible blue of her sister's eyes, which were shaded by an umbrella, protected from the sun.

Nevertheless, Andrea's mind was on other things, like what she would have done if Ed hit Amy instead, and why the hell Amy was using the wrong knots.

Apparently, she kept looking at Amy, though she couldn't recall staring at her younger sister, because Amy asked, annoyed, "What?"

Andrea looked away as she tugged on the line absentmindedly, "Nothing."

"It's not nothing. It's always something." Amy retorted, and Andrea glanced back at her.

Instead of voicing what was going on in her mind, Andrea asked, "Didn't Dad teach you to tie nail knots?"

Amy didn't look at her, "Why would he do that? He's only ever used a fisherman's knot." Andrea saw her confusion as she glanced up, "One knot."

"No, he didn't." Andrea said, incredulous, "No, he tied at least three."

"Clinch knots? No, way."

"Fine, I'm making it up." Andrea threw a hand into the air; the other hand was secured firmly on her pole. Exasperated, she looked away. Why did something so peaceful end up a fight? Was that how it was with everyone? Shane, Lori, Lori's husband. Carol and Ed. Now she and Amy. There was silence and the back of her back burned, though she was thankful for her cowboy hat, which she'd found off a dead body a while back.

She felt the silence weigh down on her as if pinning her down, choking her. Finally, she had to break it, "Did Dad teach you mostly dry lures?"

"Yeah. You?"

Huh. Andrea wondered why her father had taught the two girls different lures. She wondered if it had something to do with their age difference. With their personalities. "Wet."

It was Amy's turn to look incredulous; "You're kidding. But he was always so _adamant_. I mean, you know Dad on the fishing thing."

"Gee, you think?" She asked sarcastically back at her younger sister. But when she continued, her voice was serious. "I only spent my entire childhood with my ass in a boat. But in my day it was all about getting the hook seated. We were fishing for the dinner table."

"Not us. We always threw them back. _Always_." Amy answered.

"I guess he changed things up." Andrea said aloud what she'd thought only minutes prior. Only now she knew for sure what her father had done.

"But that'd be like changing his religion or something," Amy mused.

"People change," Andrea continued her sister's thoughts with a shrug, "It's not his fault we were born twelve years apart."

"No," Amy declared. "No, because the minute _you_ went off to college it was _my_ ass in that boat and he taught me dry lures from day one." She paused, in thought. "This was not behavior developed over time."

Andrea looked away, wondering if this was really what she'd thought all along. What _had _she thought? No, she knew what she'd thought. Dad had been special. Their father had allowed them both to grow up. They sat in quiet for a while, and Andrea, not for the first time, marveled at the wonder of the quarry. At the wonder of their father's wisdom. She tried not to admit to herself that she was afraid of knowing what had happened to him. Instead, she focused on the cool blue water beneath the boat and the long tendril of a line connected to her fishing pole, a slim chance for food.

"You think he did it for us?" She finally asked, voicing her thoughts in an almost-whisper.

Amy's voice cracked as she got it, too. "Because he knew we were so different."

'And we _are_ different.' Andrea thought as she watched Amy's face contort into sadness first and then a mix of relief and happiness second.

Amy continued, "He knew that you needed to catch the fish and I needed to throw them back." She was trying not to cry, and her voice was thick.

Andrea looked away lest she start crying, too. She could feel her eyes begin to burn and she inhaled to make sure her own throat wouldn't clog up. "All right," she said, "remember his rule: no crying in the boat." She looked everywhere but Amy. Couldn't look at Amy at this moment. "It scares the fish."

"Mom and Dad—I mean… maybe Florida wasn't hit so bad." Amy pleaded, "Maybe it's better there. Do you think?"

Andrea wasn't looking at her younger sister, but she could feel Amy's need for something reassuring. She wanted for Florida to have been spared from this crap, too. But she couldn't bring herself to answer Amy, not the truth and not even a lie, as she looked at her sister, her life, with a sad look plastered on her face. Amy looked away, swallowing. Andrea opened her mouth to say something but no words would come out.

Amy's line clicked and Andrea took this moment to change the subject, move on to happier things. "I think you have a bite." Aiming to bring a little happiness back to Amy's sad face, she continued with, "Even with the wrong knots."

It took a while for the joke to work its magic, and they both sniffled and wiped tears away from their eyes before Amy laughed halfway, "Oh God. So much for the 'no crying' rule."

Head resting in her hand, Andrea smiled at her sister before turning to look once more into the sapphire water. "I think that was more for Dad than the fish."

They both turned to look at each other and both smiled, though it was a sad sort of smile etched onto both of their faces. They continued to fish for a good while, perhaps even a few hours, with each catching a fair number a fish no matter the knots used.

"I think we've got enough fish now." Andrea mused finally, noting the number of fish lining their little cooler. Amy was silent, as she had been for the good part of the time, but Andrea sent her a comforting smile. It was hard not to act like a mother to her sister _because_ they were twelve years apart and she'd already been a teenager when Amy had just hit her child years. It was no surprise that she had been made to watch over her baby sister. Perhaps it was no surprise now that they were trapped together. Andrea wouldn't have it any other way.

It took them a while to row into shore and string their fish onto the lines; in the end, Andrea couldn't tell who exactly had caught more, but it had never been a challenge in the first place. Their silence was a comfortable one as they pushed their way up the slope, but halfway up, Amy began talking. It wasn't about Dad or Mom, but it didn't have to be. She was talking again, and Andrea found herself falling into the same old rhythm again. By the time they reached the camp, they were laughing again and both carried the gathered fish triumphantly.

"Hey, baby, would you look at that." Morales said, perhaps in awe, then he began to laugh. "Hey, check it out." Lori started clapping, her eyes wide, and even Carol and Jacqui looked up from what they were working on. "Ladies, because of you, my children will eat tonight. Thank you."

'We already had squirrel,' Andrea thought, but aloud she would take no credit: "Thank Dale. It's his canoe and gear."

It was Carl who stated the obvious behind her back, but she was busy high-fiving an ecstatic Jacqui. As Carl and his mother launched into their own conversation, Andrea realized that what they needed really _was_ fish because fish had more meat than gangly squirrels, sorry Daryl.

"Where did you two learn to do that?" Lori asked incredulously, leaning away from the string of fish Morales held toward her.

Andrea turned but it was Amy who answered with a knowing smile, "Our dad."

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Carl asked and Amy answered something about nail knots.

Andrea noted Dale's arrival and though he looked preoccupied and he was obviously flustered. Nevertheless, she was determined to lighten his mood; "Hey, Dale. When's the last time you oiled those line reels? They are a _disgrace_." Said in jest.

"I, uh," Dale murmured, slinging the rifle onto his back. "I don't want to alarm anyone, but we may have a bit of a problem."

Andrea's stomach twisted and the smile was wiped off of her face as she followed where Dale pointed. Jim was shoveling near the rise; he was just visible over the flora that grew all over the hill. They all set off for the man, eventually settling single-file for the most part up to where Jim shoveled. Andrea and Amy strode side by side, but as they all gathered around the man, they settled into an estranged semi-circle. In the shade, Andrea took off her hat.

"Hey, Jim." Shane asked, once again acting the leader in the absence of Rick. But Andrea had seen him with Rick, and she wondered if what he was doing now was just for the time or if he still thought of himself as the leader. "Jim, why don't you hold up, all right? Just give me a second here, please."

"What do you want?" He seemed obviously out of breath as he settled his shovel into the ground and looked square at Shane.

"We're all just a little concerned, man. That's all." Shane answered honestly.

Morales added in that Dale said he'd been out for hours. Jim looked at him like he'd gone mad. Then, "So?"

"So why are you digging?" Shane pressed. "Are you heading to China, Jim?" A small laugh.

"What does it matter? I'm not hurting anyone?" Jim countered. Andrea scrunched up her nose; sure, it wasn't hurting them, but it hurt himself. She wondered if his hands were bleeding, if his muscles ached. He began to shovel again, not showing a hint of weakness.

It was Dale who spoke her thoughts, "Yeah, except maybe yourself. It's 100 degrees today. You _can't_ keep this up."

"Sure I can. Watch me."

Andrea felt disgusted and she shifted her feet, but it was Lori who stepped forward. "Jim, they're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. You're scaring my son and Carol's daughter."

'Well, they hadn't known anything until you guys brought them up here,' Andrea countered in her mind, 'what about the adults who think this is disgusting?'

"They got nothing to be scared of." Jim answered, sweat streaming down his face and he huffed as he said, "I mean, what the hell, people. I'm out here by myself. Why don't you all just go and leave me the hell alone?"

Andrea couldn't have been more disgusted with Jim and with Lori and Carol. They didn't need the whole group here, at least not the kids. But then again, Jim didn't need to be digging… were those graves? Shane stepped forward and Andrea craned her head so she could see what was happening as the dark-haired former cop moved forward. He tried to reason with the man who just kept shoveling. As if his life depended on it. As Shane progressed on him, though, Jim suddenly whipped the shovel up and attacked Shane with it. Shane tackled him to the ground and tried to reason with him while he put on handcuffs.

Jim began telling the story of his wife and kids. How they died. How the only reason why he got away was because they were focused on his family. Andrea's stomach twisted again and she felt for the man all while she glanced at Amy who stared straight ahead. She wouldn't let that happen to her sister. But Jim didn't attack anymore because he was finished. Exhausted. Anyone could see that. He let Shane pick him up, and everyone fell back into a line as they headed back to camp.

-DARYL-

Well damn. Chinaman had known exactly what he was talking about. The little map he had drawn on the floor of the building was good. Perhaps not accurate, of course, but it got the point across. He had been a pack of sticky tape, blue label. Aw, how'd China know his favorite color? Who the fuck was he kidding; this idea was the craziest thing he'd ever seen. But, considering what he knew about China and those walkers, this was the best damned plan he knew of right about now. Course, Glenn thought he should be the martyr and go snatch the bag himself, leaving Daryl to fend for himself. Well, hell, Daryl had thought he could go off and look for Merle in all that time it would take him to get back. Despite himself, Daryl had been impressed.

"Hey, kid, what'd you do before all this?" He had asked, trying not to show how impressed he'd been.

"Delivered pizzas. Why?"

No fucking way. Rick had nodded and looked at him, and he'd nodded too. Then he'd followed closely behind the young man, stopping behind a dumpster (that smelled so much like them walkers it should have covered their scent) so he could arm his crossbow.

"You got some guts for a Chinaman." He had commented on Glenn's supposed want for martyrdom.

"I'm Korean."

"Whatever." Daryl still had thought he would call the Asian a Chinaman. Suited him. The _Chinaman_ sped out of the alleyway as Daryl had yanked a crossbow bolt out of its holder and snapped it into place. He'd ducked behind the dumpster; no use in him getting bit (or seen) while watching Glenn's escape route.

Hadn't been hard for him to hear the sound of footsteps reverberating through the alleyway. Footsteps. Human, alive, too quick to be a walker. He'd flattened his back against the dumpster, bringing his crossbow to his chest in hopes that he wouldn't be seen before he could strike first. Dixons always struck first. When he stood and aimed his gun at the kid's chest, the fucking Mexican yelled out when he attacked. He'd yelled something in Spanish that Daryl couldn't care less what it meant, and Daryl asked for his brother. Mexican didn't know him. Of course Mexican wouldn't answer. Prayed for his life, Daryl thought.

Of course, nothing ever happened just right. After a series of events, which ended in a scuffle in which Daryl had gotten the shit kicked out of him by two other Mexicans who came out of fucking _nowhere_, a bolt up one of Mexican's butts, and Chinaman being stolen, Daryl could only remember Glenn screaming his name as he was taken away. What the everloving _fuck_. First he'd lost his damn brother, now he'd lost the pizza delivery guy.

Now, they stood in a ragged triangle formation outside the hell-hole that punk homie Mexican had led them to. He'd told them easily enough. He'd had no _choice_ but to tell them. After Daryl showed him his brother's hand and made up some half-assed bullshit story about how he'd killed the man whose hand this belonged to, the boy opened right up. Like a can of sardines or some other fishy can; he smelled bad after he opened up, too. Might've peed himself.

He aimed his crossbow at the main man, another Mexican who looked like he owned the place. But Daryl wasn't one for formalities and he didn't care a cent about what these dudes were talking about. Rick was the leader here, not him. He held the crossbow, he wasn't paid to look pretty.

"You got my brother in there?" He asked, pushing a step forward, readying the bow just in case.

"Sorry, we're fresh out of white boys." Mexican Bossman answered back, "But I've got Asian. You interested?"

Rick tried the tradeoff tactic. Daryl just wanted to shoot him in the face. Both of them. All of them. But they were back to the guns and Daryl thought about sticking an arrow up the other guy's ass. Again. Then Rick showed where T-Dog was, and he could see Bossman's face change. Couldn't help but grin at that. But then there was Glenn, hood over his head, high above them on the top of the building. Again with the hardships.

Wasn't hard to think about what needed to happen next for Daryl. After they'd 'retreated,' he spoke out first. "Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table." Rick just fidgeted with the guns, and Daryl pressed harder. "You willing to give that up for that kid?"

T-Dog added his own thoughts, Mexican boy asked something, and Daryl snapped at him, slapping him across the ear and wondering aloud if he wanted all his teeth. He and his gang of mofo homies was what got him in this in the first place. He'd better keep the fuck quiet. T-Dog skipped right back into the conversation, and Daryl sidestepped him with his own reasoning. Asked if Glenn was worth the guns, his life. But it was Rick who answered.

"What life I have I owe to him." Rick's voice was matter of fact. He continued and, like it or not, Daryl saw the reasoning. But he still questioned. Was handing the guns over the best bet? Rick disagreed. And Daryl saw it. How could he have been so stupid? Then Rick told them to get back to camp. Did he have _no_ brains at all? T-Dog was on the same page as Daryl. For once, Daryl thought he might get to like the Black Man. Deciding not to draw on this love-fest any longer, Daryl looked Rick straight in the eyes, nodded, and gathered what he needed, getting ready for a beat down.

He'd get the Chinaman back even if he had to blow every single thing to smithereens.


	4. Guns

**Thanks for the continued reviews!**

- - - - - - - - - - - - - DARYL - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Daryl and Merle had done a lot of dumb things when they were kids. Their schooling was fine and all, but they were both troublemakers and Merle was expelled from High School. Daryl, somewhat more sensible than his brother, at least stuck it out. But when they were kids school didn't matter as much. It's the woods that mattered. They grew up in a small town barely two hundred strong; his next-door neighbors were his grandparents. Their daddy was a drunkard, as was their grandpa (Papa), but their momma was a good city woman who'd fallen in love with Dad and stayed. Their dad was always gung-ho about them learning all about the wilds, but Momma wouldn't have any of it, now allowing them to hold guns until they were preteens. Naturally, Merle got to hold guns first; made Daryl jealous.

When they were younger, though, the brothers were always together. They made up their own games in the woods. One such game involved their knives; it was a truth or dare game Merle made up partly to assert his leadership over his younger brother. It involved throwing a knife at a beehive and retrieving said knife.

The brothers always decided fairly who should go first. But Daryl always lost at rock-paper-scissors. By the time he usually went, the bees were always infuriated, so Merle always found ways to skip his turn. The 'game' taught Daryl to throw knives straight—the more he missed the hive the longer the game went on, to be quick about retrieving the knife—the longer he took the more possibility it was that the bees would sting him, and to be quick about leaving the hive for safety.

The worst part wasn't throwing the knife and seeing the bees swarm angrily, the worst part was when the knife got so stuck in the hive that he couldn't just yank it free. And Merle would deck him if he didn't return with the knife. Deck him and make him go back anyway. He learned quickly that sticking your hand into a beehive full of angry, swarming bees was the absolute _worst_ thing to ever happen to someone. That is, of course, 'till them damn walkers came along. After the first few times, Momma decided to stop the nonsense and told Merle never to let Daryl stick his hands in the hives again.

This was exactly like those times. He didn't throw a knife into this hive, and these people were more like slavering hounds than bees, but it was the same type of thing. You provoke the hive and you provoke the wrath of a million stinging insects. Except these were people. With guns. Dammit.

Daryl had never _willingly_ allowed himself to surrender, but he had to tell himself that he wasn't actually surrendering anything. This plan was a fucking _good_ plan and Daryl commended Rick for that. Sure, they might as well die anyway if this plan failed, but it sure as hell beat being eaten by those dead walking mofos just so they could become one when they died. Still, shuffling into the bee's lair, shotgun placed firmly onto Mexican Kid's back, Daryl felt that tingling feeling crawling up and down his arms like his arms were crawling with bees, stingers ready. He shook the feeling off as best he could for he knew exactly how well a bullet could punch through skin. He didn't _like_ how many guns were pointed at him.

However, he was following Rick. Rick knew what he was doing, Daryl hoped.

"I see my guns," Bossman said, surrounded by his homie fools. Probably thought he was all super special because he had a lot of men. What he didn't know was that Daryl could probably kill over half of them before they'd cocked their guns. Rick could take out the other half. T-Dog probably couldn't even hit an elephant with his. But these people were like bees; their hive was twice as big as imagined and more would come.

"But they're not all in the bag." Bossman continued. Well, shit, Bossman could see.

Rick looked incredibly serious when he declared, "That's because they're not yours. I thought I mentioned that."

Daryl raised his shotgun to Mexican Kid's head when Arrow-Ass tried to talk nonsense to Bossman. But he just as quickly shifted his footing to aim the barrel at Arrow-Ass when he moved forward menacingly. Straight-faced, Daryl wanted to show them that he didn't fuck with anyone. Bossman quieted him down, though, and Daryl gave him a little smirk. Fuck yes, _that_ is why Rick and Bossman were leaders. They could talk anyone into doing what they wanted.

Bossman told Rick he wasn't clear of the situation and Rick answered back that he was, in fact, pretty clear. Then, the former sheriff cut Mexican Kid's ties and Daryl forced himself to point the gun back on Arrow-Ass even though he really, really wanted to shoot Mexican Kid in the face. Rick said he'd given Mexican Kid back, now he wanted 'his' man back.

Bossman thought about that for a moment and Daryl could see his teeth chomping together as he mulled over the possibilities. Finally: "I'm gonna chop up your boy. I'm gonna feed him to my dogs." He stepped forward, trying to look all intimidating or some sort of shit. "They're the evilest, nastiest man-eating bitches you ever saw. I picked them up from Satan at a yard sale." Daryl highly doubted that. If they'd had the dogs, then they would have brought them out in plain view. That's what _he_ woulda done. "I told you how it has to be," Bossman continued, "Are you woefully deaf?"

Daryl would have lost it right there with that Mexican running his mouth, spitting in his face. But Rick only took his own step forward. "No, my hearing's fine. You said come locked and loaded."

Rick primed his gun and Daryl was only a second off-beat, echoing him. T-Dog was somewhere, too, prolly hiding (the stupid Black Man), but he could hear another gun ready and it wasn't the Mexican's poor excuse for weaponry. They all jumped, too, of course. Like the bees knowing their Queen was going to die. Daryl smiled as he advanced a couple steps just _waiting_ for an order.

But Rick continued, pointing his gun at Bossman's face. "Okay then, we're here."

Standoff. Daryl hated standoffs just about as much as he hated whiney people. No one was whining here, but of course, if he could _just_ get a shot in, quite a few people would be whining. Or dead. Didn't matter much for him so long as he was the one still alive and standing. Too bad he didn't realize just how many guns these Mexicans had. Probably looted them; that was probably why he couldn't find any damn guns in the city. Fuck Mexicans.

Suddenly, from behind the congregation of testosterone, a woman's voice called shakily for a dude named Felipe. Daryl caught a glimpse of her before she pushed her way through the men. The fuck? What was an old woman doing here? Arrow-Ass told his 'abuela'—Daryl had an idea that that word meant grandmother—to go back with the others. Not letting up but not pointing the gun at the old woman because she wasn't the one holding a gun to his face, Daryl nevertheless sidestepped so he was closer to Rick. Back him up.

"Get that old lady out of the line of fire!" He growled out, not wanting to hit the woman. He didn't _hit_ women; he wasn't no Merle, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone that old to be dead by his hand.

Bossman tried to reason with the lady but she would have none of it as old people often didn't. She ignored Bossman and told 'Felipe,' though Daryl liked the name Arrow-Ass better, that Mr. Gilbert needed 'asthma stuff.' Medicine. Rick lowered his gun which made Daryl tighten his grip on his. He'd still make sure the group would be safe in this beehive.

Suddenly, the old granny asked who 'those men' were and moved into his line of fire. Obediently, respectfully, Daryl lowered his gun. Couldn't understand a lick of Spanish those men said, but the old lady was kind enough to speak in good-ol-fashioned _American_ English. But she was obviously confused.

"Don't you take him!" She exclaimed, rounding on Rick.

Rick shuffled his feet confusedly, "Ma'am?"

"Felipe's a good boy." She answered in that weird, shaky old lady voice. "He have his trouble but he pull himself together. We need him here."

Daryl thought the old woman had lost her mind. She seriously thought that Rick was a sheriff. _Still _a sheriff, 'cuz he had been a sheriff at one time. But, yet again, this was why Rick was the leader. He answered her easily enough: "Ma'am, I'm not here to arrest your grandson."

"Then what do you want him for?" Granny asked. Daryl growled under his breath. _He_ wanted Arrow-Ass dead.

Rick was a quick-thinker, though. "He's… helping us find a missing person. Fella named Glenn."

"The Asian boy? He's with Mr. Gilbert." Granny answered. Daryl had to give her a bit of respect 'cuz she'd called him Asian. If she woulda called him Chinaman, he would've probably hugged her outright. 'Cept he might have been shot dead by her homies and Arrow-Ass. Anyway, Granny grabbed Rick's hand and said, "Come. Come, I show you. He needs his medicine."

Bossman looked defeated—which Daryl delighted in—and shook his head while he said, "Let 'em pass."

Even Arrow-Ass let Daryl pass. Daryl even came within inches of the homie as he tried to follow as close as he could to Rick. He got led out of the garage into a side street that looked like it'd been overrun with plants even before the world ended. Up a flight of stairs. To the back of a building into a backyard that looked like it was bein' converted into a garden. Into the back of the building. And inside the building, old people.

The fuck?

Arrow-Ass stepped forward and spoke in Spanish then asked her to take him to the ailing man. Daryl wanted to rush forward and find Glenn—hell, even if he wasn't Merle, he wouldn't leave Glenn behind—but realized he might actually be better off with Rick. Besides, he didn't really like old people. They smelled funny even when they were clean. Granny led them to a room that looked like it doubled as a cafeteria and more room for sleeping. There were a lot of old people and even some homies clustered around one man. And, good Lord thank you, Glenn. Daryl maneuvered so he could be close to the Asian man and looked at the doctor people as they helped an old man breathe.

Rick asked what was on Daryl's mind. "What the hell is this?"

Glenn, however, was a stupid dolt. "An asthma attack. Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

Rick prolly didn't want that answer. But it was T-Dog who spoke up. "I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man."

Glenn glanced somewhere and Daryl followed his line of vision. Oh hell. Those dogs were going to kill someone's… _ankles_, if they could _reach_ them. Daryl hated little dogs. And these people had three of them. Little rats full of shit, barking their heads off at them. Man, _fuck_ Arrow-Ass, he'd shoot those rats any day. Any day meaning right now, this instant. While Daryl was thinking about killing the rats—seriously, they weren't even 1 percent the hellhounds those bitch homies made 'em out to be—Rick took Bossman to the side. Daryl tried to listen in, but they whispered so well that he gave up.

"Gave me a scare, y'know." Daryl growled to Glenn who smiled sheepishly. "Why'd ya get on th' roof, 'nyway?"

"They wanted it to be convincing." Glenn shrugged and shifted his feet. "They _did_ promise they wouldn't throw me over the side. It was still scary up there."

"Damn, Glenn." T-Dog laughed, shaking his head and wiping the sweat off his upper lip. "We really thought you was in trouble."

"Only one in trouble here was Mr. Gilbert." Glenn said and Daryl looked back at the old man who wasn't in trouble anymore. "They're good people."

"Badass homies, 's what they are." Daryl muttered and Glenn and both T-Dog looked at him. He shrugged and shouldered his rifle, wishing for his crossbow instead of this stupid shotgun. "What? Just 'cuz they like watchin' old people don't mean I gotta like 'em."

T-Dog just looked at him and Glenn shook his head. Just then, Rick called them over and the five of them, Bossman included, walked into a separate room. When he'd set the guns down on some hoedown crappy old person couch, Rick asked, "What about the rest of your crew?"

"The vatos trickle in to check on their parents and grandparents. They see how things are and most decide to stay. It's a good thing, too. We need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart, the worst kind—plunderers, the kind that take by force." Bossman said. Daryl wrinkled his nose as he listened. He saw a lot of white folk old people but had yet to see an actual white folk young person save for a few nurses. And where the hell were the other women?

"That's not who we are." Rick said.

"How was I to know? My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage—appearances." Bossman reasoned.

Hell, it wasn't no appearance for Daryl, not when his group's life was on the line. But it was T-Dog who thought clearer: "Guess the world changed."

"No." Daryl glanced back to Bossman as the Mexican spoke. "It's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken. So we do what we can here. The vatos work on those cars, talk about getting the old people out of the city. But most can't even get to the bathroom by themselves, so that's just a dream. Still, it keeps the crew busy and that's worth something. So we barred all the windows, welded all the doors shut except for one entrance. The vatos, they go out. Scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why."

"Because they can." Rick answered. Daryl had an inkling of what the former sheriff meant. He wasn't surprised that Rick handed Bossman his shotgun, reached in the bag for a few other guns and some ammo, and gave that to Bossman, too. Didn't like it none, of course. But Rick had taken charge and not even T-Dog complained.

Bossman didn't say thank you, but he didn't need to. Daryl could see how a weight had lifted off of his back. Perhaps he sorta felt for this guy, but they weren't ever going to be friends. If they ever met each other again, that is. Bossman suggested that they leave as quick as they could and Daryl seconded the idea.

"Seriously, you seen a white man looks like me?" Daryl asked Bossman while he was checking the guns.

"I told you before, we don't have white men, but we haven't seen any like you, either." Bossman answered.

"What Daryl's trying to say is he's prettier than his brother. Merle's uglier. Seen any ugly white men?" Glenn asked. Daryl shot him a look like 'I'm going to pay you back one day,' and Glenn just shrugged.

"Naw, no one's seen anyone like you." Bossman lifted his shoulders in his own shrug.

"Maybe he left," Rick answered. "Left the whole city."

"Wouldn't put it past him," Daryl grinned, "He's Merle Fuckin' Dixon. He can survive anything."

He said this lightheartedly, or about as lightheartedly as he could get it, but on the inside, he hated that Rick had given away good guns.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - DARYL- - - - - - - - - - - - -

They made good time back. Glenn was talking the whole way and more than once Daryl told him to shut up. He didn't listen, of course, kept chattering like any Asian man. He didn't talk nothing about Merle, though. Daryl could give him that. He did touch on how stupid walkers were, how Guillermo (apparently that was Bossman's name) was actually a pretty cool guy. T-Dog and Rick offered their opinions sometimes, but mostly it was just Chinaman jabbering on about something or other. He'd started long before they got out of walker range, too. Some started following them and Daryl had to shoot them with his crossbow.

When they were nearing the bus marking the edge of the city after nearly five minutes of silence from Asian, he finally lost the Silence Game. "Admit it; you only came back to Atlanta for the hat."

"Don't tell anybody." Rick jested back.

Daryl couldn't hold it in any longer. "You've given away half our guns and ammo."

"Not nearly half."

"For _what_? Bunch of old farts who are gonna die off momentarily anyhow? Seriously, how long you think they got?"

"How long do any of us?" Rick answered sagely like he was Old Man.

They rounded the edge of the bus. It was Rick who stopped first, who noticed the truck gone. He stopped second and clenched his teeth hard.

"Oh my God." Asian muttered and for once Daryl agreed.

"Where the hell's our van?" He asked, not caring if he was stating the question on everyone's mind or not.

"We left it right there. Who would take it?" Glenn continued as if Daryl hadn't spoken at all.

"Merle." Rick answered.

Oh shit. Of course it would be Merle. At least it was Merle. Meant Merle was still alive. "He's gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp."

"Well, we don't have a car. We're going to have to work to get there by morning." Rick said after a short silence. "We'd best get started."

T-Dog groaned, "Aren't there other cars?"

"After what Asian did yesterday with that red one?" Daryl scoffed, "Won't wanna risk that again."

Glenn glared at him, but Rick was already walking. Walking _quickly_. As if he was fixing to run. "Losing sunlight, guys."

Without much else to do, Daryl followed the former sheriff. Not surprisingly, the others followed after.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Where the hell was that wrapping paper? She'd _sworn_ she'd seen some here somewhere. She tried opening a few drawers and in her speed she nearly broke one of the drawers, only realizing her mistake when she noticed something caught under the drawer. Maneuvering it out of the way, Andrea was finally able to pull the drawer out but there was nothing there that she was searching for. She closed that drawer and opened the one above it; she took out what looked like fancy napkins. She mussed with the plastic wrapping but put it back and slammed the drawer a bit harder than she should have.

She noted Dale walking up the stairs as she opened up another drawer on the opposite side of the RV. "Wrapping paper, color tissue, anything?"

"Seriously?" Dale asked.

Andrea looked through the cabinets over the sink, "How can you not have any?"

"Had I been informed of the impending apocalypse I'd have stocked up." Dale mused.

Though Andrea immediately felt sorry, she persisted. "It's Amy's birthday tomorrow. I've been marking days on the calendar just to make sure."

As she spoke, she opened her hand, revealing the necklace she'd pretty much stolen the day she met Rick. Yesterday. Oh, God. That was only yesterday but it felt so long ago. Nowadays, every day seemed like an eternity. Dale put his glasses onto his nose and inspected the little mermaid closely. She was very proud of getting it even though she'd felt bad for taking it yesterday. But, as it was, yesterday felt like a year away now. She was literally jittery with her happiness at finding such a wonderful thing.

"You don't give a gift unwrapped." She exclaimed, shrugging.

"Deep breath." Dale said as he handed back the mermaid necklace. "I'm sure I'll find something here."

He was smiling as he pushed past her and she smiled, too. She felt the need to say thank you, to start helping him, but she knew that she'd probably just be in the way. So she walked over to the seats and sat facing him. He rummaged around for a bit, searched in places that she hadn't thought of searching, and came up empty-handed.

"Sorry, Andrea." He said, shaking his head and raising his hands in defeat.

She crumpled but only a little bit. "Thanks, Dale."

He looked at her sadly for a few more seconds before exiting the RV. She continued to sit there for quite some time, looking around more, looking to see if she could spy a place where she or Dale hadn't previously looked. She gave up momentarily, knowing that it was no use. Perhaps she'd use the napkin anyway… but then she'd be using a napkin with little need. Wouldn't do to use something for something so minimally. Even if it _was_ Amy's birthday.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sun had set past the treeline and the night was very dark though the small light given by the fire allowed the group to see. They were clustered around the fire which had been given a higher wall of rocks so light wouldn't seep through. Although the fire was larger than most nights, it still wasn't large enough to give off much heat. This was good, though. Leftover heat from the day kept them all happily warm, even if it was a sticky, humid heat. Andrea milked a beer as others chuckled to a joke. Sophia asked for more fish and all of a sudden everyone wanted some. The joking died down for a bit while everyone ate their fill.

"I've got to ask you, man. It's been driving me crazy." Morales asked finally from his seat by his wife.

"What?" Dale asked, and Andrea piqued up, interested.

"That watch."

Dale was smiling as he looked at it, touched it almost fondly. "What's wrong with my watch?"

"I see you every day, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass." Morales was smiling. Andrea, taking a bite out of fish, nodded her own agreement to the Mexican's words.

"I've wondered this myself." Jacqui agreed.

"I'm missing the point." Dale raised his hands in a sort of surrender.

"Unless I've misread the signs," Jacqui continued, pointing at the watch, "the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while."

"But there's you every day winding that stupid watch." Morales put in.

Andrea couldn't help but feel a sort of yearning to know the answer, too. She was smiling broadly, and Amy was giggling to herself. She glanced at Amy, but the younger woman just grinned as if she had a thought about the watch but no one could know it. Even Carl was laughing as he sat next to his mother, eating his fish. Jacqui was straight-faced, but Jacqui rarely smiled, usually about as much as Andrea when she wasn't around her sister.

"Time—it's important to keep track, isn't it?" Dale laughed out, spreading his arms in a wide gesture. "The days at least. Don't you think, Andrea?"

Andrea felt her blood pump quicker. She'd been silently agreeing with him, of course. She _had_ to keep track of the days just to make sure she remembered Amy's birthday. She just smiled and shifted her eyes as if she hadn't heard him say her name. She didn't want him going around telling everyone that she kept track! She didn't want anyone to know, much less Andrea herself!

"Back me up here!" He almost pleaded. But she just chuckled as she picked up her beer in an attempt to allow herself to get off the hook. He just laughed and shook his head good-naturedly. She forgave him instantly; wasn't his fault he didn't know she didn't want a scene. He continued after a chuckle. "I like—I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said, 'I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father's before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it for a moment now and then and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it.'"

Everyone had fallen silent as if Dale had been a wise man who'd just given the most important speech of anyone's life. Even Jacqui had a faint smile on her face. As if the world hadn't ended after all. And Andrea didn't miss the look of knowing that passed between Shane and Lori simply because she was facing both of them. Though she tried to blend in the knowledge that she'd seen it with taking another small sip of her beer.

"You are so weird." Amy finally declared. The whole camp laughed. As if they'd been thinking the same thing.

"It's not me. It's Faulkner. William Faulkner. Maybe my bad paraphrasing." Dale countered genially. Amy sort of rolled her eyes and bit another bite of fish off of her spoon. Andrea smiled at her sister then took her own bite.

After taking a sip of her drink, Amy got up. Andrea looked up in surprise. "Where are you going?" She asked, immediately knowing that she sounded like their mother.

"I have to pee. _Jeez_, you try to be discreet around here." Amy retorted, which created more laughter. Everyone was in good spirits tonight. Andrea found her beer to be lacking now and she finished the last bit of it in a final swig. The group started laughing again at something Carl and Morales' boy did. Everything was normal.

From the RV, Amy called, "We're out of toilet paper?"

Dale twisted around, "Did you check under the sink?"

"Yeah, there wasn't anything there. Checked the cabinets above the sink, too." Amy yelled back. Then she screamed.

Andrea, still laughing at Carl's antics, turned around to see why her sister had made such a noise about toilet paper. And in an instant, her world ended.


	5. Amy

**A shorter chapter, but not by much. I'm sad about finally nearing the end of the first season. So much happens in the second season, though, that I'll be able to add in more side-events. As always, read and review!**

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The moment Andrea twisted around to see what was the matter with her sister, that moment was the beginning of the end of her life. Her mouth twisted in horror and she could feel her heart begin to pump harder and harder as she tried to push herself out of her seat. Everyone else acted simultaneously, some falling out of their chairs in fright. She tried to crawl forward but her foot caught on her folding chair. Perhaps taking that extra time to kick her chair free saved her life. Perhaps she didn't _want_ her life saved.

Behind her Shane was firing like crazy. In front of her, Amy had been caught by another walker; it dug its teeth into the soft skin between her shoulder and her collarbone. Andrea scrambled forward crying out the word 'no' over and over, but was pushed away by a person with a bat. Jim. It was Jim, she realized dimly. He swung the bat at the attacking walker, smashing its skull in. Then he dropped the bat, turned in a slow circle, and then shambled away.

"Oh! Oh!" Andrea cried as she scrambled forward now on her hands and knees, hair in her face, her hands frantically trying to stem the blood that poured from her sister's neck. "Oh God, oh my God."

Amy was wheezing. Amy was wheezing as she spoke, and whenever she took a breath, blood poured out into the cold, unforgiving earth. "Help me." She groaned.

"Oh God, I don't know what to do." Andrea cried desperately. Trying to decide which would should have the most of her attention. "I don't know what to do!"

Then they were both crying. Amy crying while Andrea wiped her sister's blood all over her neck, the side of her face as she grabbed her sister's head in frantic gestures. Andrea crying while she saw her sister, the one person that she had decided to live for in this shithole of a world. Her eyes stung badly but no tears would come out. Amy was struggling; Andrea could tell she was hurting. Andrea could tell she was _dying_.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"What would you do if I got bit?" Amy asked one day. The sisters were new to this 'living with others' thing, but they were happy, at least, to not be doing the laundry. The other women had volunteered for that.

"Bitten. If you _were_ bitten." Andrea mused as she dunked the soup spoon back into the large pot she was fixing dinner in. She looked at Amy, her mind blank. Finally, she shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't thought about losing you. Not that way."

"That's not good enough," Amy flicked water at her sister from where she was washing potatoes. "Tell me what you'd do."

"You'd never get bitten." The older sister said with a wry grin. "I wouldn't let you."

"But if I did." Amy pursued.

Andrea stirred the pot thoughtfully. "I would put you out of your misery, Amy. I would make sure you had the best burial anyone had to offer. I'd make sure you didn't come back. Why'd you ask?"

Amy grinned, "To see if you still liked me."

Andrea laughed and tried a nonchalant shrug, "Oh, I didn't say I liked you."

More water came her way as Amy made to splash her again. Then they were both laughing. "Hey, like is different from_ love_, Amy."

Amy grumbled something under her breath but she was smiling so it was bound to be good. Louder, she said, "I would probably let you rot and die."

"Hey!" Andrea whined, "Here I was all sweet and you throw it in my face!"

Amy was giggling now, "And then I'd watch you come alive and you could be my pet."

"Pet?"

"Yeah, you know. You could follow me. Like Daffodil." She continued. Daffodil was Amy's dog. A golden retriever, Daffodil had been Amy's baby and it showed. Andrea had not been a part of Amy's life then, having gone off to college; that's probably why she'd gotten the dog. Why Dad had allowed her to own a dog, Andrea didn't know. He'd never allowed _Andrea_ to have any pets.

"Please," Andrea proclaimed frankly. "You'd be too sweet for me to follow."

Amy snorted then, "Well you wouldn't be able to get close to anyone else. You're not like that, Andrea. You pick one and you get close… but only to that one."

"Who died and suddenly made you God of all knowledge?" Andrea laughed out.

Amy shrugged. "I just know things. I know _you_."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - DARYL - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The small group of men knew they were too late when, suddenly, screams and gunshots filled the air. He was too far behind Rick to hear him, but he was pretty sure the man asked for something from God. Though they were exhausted, Daryl found renewed strength when he heard those cries. Fuck those walkers. He'd kill every last one of them. He'd kill them so much they wouldn't know they were dead, or re-dead, or whatever. Shit.

Double-timing it, they reached the camp and immediately began to aim for heads and hope for the best. It was panic, like hell had broken loose, and God dammit stay still people and stop your incessant screaming! Rick shot first, the walker being only a foot away from where Rick arrived. Then they were in the thick of the action and the walkers spotted the new feast.

Daryl tripped over a pole from one of the unlucky tents but his aim was true and even as he crouched a walker fell where it stood, shot through the eye. Each step took him closer to his unfortunate targets. He pulled his gun up, aimed, and shot. Again and again. The others did, too, and slowly the camp was more alive and less dead.

His rage overtook him with one walker. It had been crouching over the body of that old black woman he'd actually rather liked despite what Merle thought of her. She'd been a kind woman and had even offered to help spice up his squirrels once in a while. Sure he'd said he didn't need his squirrels 'spiced up,' but he'd grown to like her. Now this walker took her. He slammed the butt of his rifle into its head once, twice, three times. Fifty times it seemed. Then he hit her in the head, too, to make sure she didn't have to endure the horribleness of becoming one of _them_.

Anger still infuriating him, he stepped off of their bodies and slammed his rifle into the head of another walker. Then he stood up and wiped the sweat off his brow and, lowering the rifle, he looked around. Those who were still alive clustered around the RV as if it was some sort of safe haven. He began counting them, mentally. Running the numbers in his head. Carol, Sophia, Rick and his family, Shane, Jim. Those Mexicans. That black lady, and T-Dog and the rest of his group. And the old man had somehow survived. He _would_ survive, of course. And Andrea and Amy.

Wait just a second.

Oh _fuck_. There had been a lot of deaths tonight and there would soon be one more. He knew just by a glance that Amy wouldn't make it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Shhhh, shhhh. Shhhhh." Andrea cooed, stroking Amy's face. Amy wore the most pained expression that Andrea had ever seen her sister wear. She couldn't… wouldn't imagine how it felt to die. She just wanted to make Amy's passing better. She couldn't fathom, but she tried to be there. She hadn't been there in Amy's later years. She had to be here _now_. No matter where she'd been before. Amy would have wanted that.

"Oh, Amy." Andrea whispered. Amy gagged in response; Andrea could do nothing to help her sister breathe. Amy was so _scared_, and her eyes pleaded with Andrea. Why? What happened? Help me? Please be there for me? I don't know what to do. I don't know what's happening. I don't want to die. Andrea answered those questions with: "I don't know what to do, Amy."

She could tell it was taking everything for Amy to lift her hand. She could feel the touch, Amy's deathly cold fingers, as they dragged down the side of her cheek. Andrea just stared at her sister, caressing her face, wishing her to be better. But then, all so suddenly, she could see the light go out of Amy's eyes. Could see the last of her shuddering breaths. Swore she could see Amy leave her body at the moment of her death. She didn't believe it for a moment. Couldn't believe her sister was dead.

And then it sunk in and she backed up slowly. Looked at Amy's chest. It wasn't moving; no breath would ever fill her lungs again. At least not a life-sustaining breath. Amy's head dropped to the side, her eyes closed and she was gone.

"Oh." Andrea not-quite-moaned. "Oh. Oh."

She could feel a tear course down her nose. More threatened to come but they wouldn't; they were stuck behind a barrier of… _something_. She didn't have any words. She could only repeat that one word over and over and over again. She could barely mutter out Amy's name. Maybe she was still there. But Andrea knew she wasn't.

"Oh, no no." She started sobbing and she could hear her own sobs coming out, her throat rasping, her voice loud and low. Not her voice. "Amy!" She wailed. Hoping her voice would bring her last lifeline to the world back to her. "Amy!"

But Amy was lost. She was lost to the world. And so was Andrea.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - DARYL - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Daryl gnawed at his mouth as he attempted to stem an angry retort while he watched Andrea out of the corner of his eyes. She didn't deserve that. But while he felt sorry for her, he glowered at her incessant crying. Her sister was _dead_ and no amount of 'perty tears' were gonna bring her back. Daryl turned around, glowering at the walker on the ground in front of him. Well fuck her and fuck the walkers and fuck the world. Andrea didn't deserve to lose her sister. Daryl deserved to lose Merle, of course. Merle was an evil son-a-bitch. Amy had been nothing but kind.

Hell, now that Merle was gone, he was feeling a connection to these people. Hell, it was the inkling of a connection, not a real one, not yet. He wasn't ready for connections yet; his only one had been with Merle, truly. But he wouldn't give up. Besides, Rick had allowed him to live despite all the shit he'd thrown the former sheriff's way. He looked around, saw all the dead bodies of people he'd almost known, and for some reason his throat choked.

Daryl's throat never choked.

He glanced over at Amy and Andrea again and cursed God for taking away such an innocent child. Man, fuck it. He hated life, but he'd chosen to live. Sure, he'd live. But as he watched Andrea mourn her dead sister, his throat got all itchy. So as to not focus on their deaths, he focused on making sure those dead wouldn't come back any longer. And his anger built up again as he picked up a pick-axe discarded by one of the survivors and swung at the head of an undead.

Hell if he let them hurt his group anymore.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - ANDREA - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I hate that Mom and Dad made _you_ come with me." Amy moaned. "Was supposed to be just Dad'n'I."

She slouched in the car seat, red headphones stuck permanently to her ears, phone superglued to her hand. Andrea rolled her eyes and only tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "You know Dad always planned it this way."

"Then he _tricked_ me." Amy retorted, picked up her iPod and switched through the songs.

Andrea shrugged. "I don't like it any more than you do. But let's just pretend we like each other for a minute and catch up on things. You have a boyfriend?"

"Andrea, you missed everything because you didn't care. Why should I tell you anything? Why should you care now?"

Feeling her temper begin to rise, she mumbled, "I care now, okay?"

"Doesn't count. Dad made you come, I bet." Amy grumbled. "I hate you."

Andrea sighed. Rolled her eyes. Decided that it was too much to talk sense into her sister. "Look, I don't care if you don't like me, but we're stuck together for a couple of months. Can you at least pretend to like me?"

Amy copied Andrea's eye-rolling. "Sure, I'll 'pretend' to like you," She said, quoting the word 'pretend' with her fingers, "Doesn't mean I have to actually care."

"Think of it as an adventure." Andrea mused. "Seeing colleges, seeing awesome sights. Keeping your eyes glued to your phone."

Amy laughed shortly and then promptly said. "Yeah, have fun with that... that other stuff. Me and my phone keep great company."

Andrea slowed the car down as the stoplight turned red and shook her head slowly. She didn't doubt that it'd be a while for her sister and her to be friends again. But they'd get there one day. Perhaps they'd even act like sisters. Maybe that's what Dad wanted, to make sisters out of them. Well, it wouldn't happen soon, that was for sure.

"How about we plug your iPod in? There's an adapter cable somewhere around here." Andrea rummaged in the center console of her car and Amy just stared at her.

"You like Hip-Hop? Rock? Oldies?"

Andrea shrugged. "I'm not an old hag, Amy. I'm with the times."

Amy looked at her incredulously for one long moment and then nodded, "Sure. Let me find it, though. The light's green."

Maybe this vacation wasn't going to turn out all that bad. Maybe Andrea would actually have a sister by the end of it.


End file.
